Could the Earth Be Other Than Round?

God said:

Could the Earth be other than round? In roundness there is wholeness. In roundness there is Oneness. The Sun is round. The Moon is round. All planets are round.

Imagine a circle that is so big, you can't find the circumference. Perhaps there can be no circumference. Perhaps there is none, for this circle is ever-expanding. It is a blossoming circle. It keeps blossoming more and more. What does it blossom into? What does it become, this ever-widening circle? And where in its roundness, did it begin?

Imagine a circle of light, its rays so bright your eyes cannot see the center of it. There is so much light, you cannot see where the light is coming from. All you can see is light. All you can know is that there is light, and light is. The light is so bright that you cannot differentiate anything in the light. There may not be anything to differentiate in the light that is so bright. Maybe there is nothing to see but more light, if you could see. Maybe there is nothing but light, and light is all inclusive.

Imagine that you live within this light. Imagine that you are a part of this undifferentiated light. Yet, how can you be a part of that which has no parts, no segmentation, no spots, no dots, nothing but simply fulminating light, surging and rolling like waves, light having a good time, light knowing nothing else, knowing not time nor good nor bad, knowing nothing but the light of itself, knowing nothing but expanding eternity, winding itself around and around, escalating, dancing joyful light?

Immersed in the light, how would you even know that this unbounded light was light? There would not be a name for light. There wouldn't be a name for anything. There would be nothing to name. There would be the beingness of light. There would be Being dancing in its own light. There would be this energy ready to burst into song, come into play, implode upon itself, replicating the wholeness of its being, furling and unfurling, circling itself in ever-widening circles, embracing itself as if there were no other, when all the while there is no other.

What if the replication of this Oneness forgot its Oneness? What if the replication did not even believe in Oneness, did not conceive it, did not recognize it nor reverence it, did not remember it, did not extol it, did not look for it, ostracized it from its awareness, abandoned it as if Oneness had never been?

What if this reflected Oneness kept looking into pools of light and saw himself shimmering on the surface? What if he imagined whatever he imagined, and what he imagined came to be? He imagined water and swam in it. He imagined sidewalks and walked on them. He imagined other beings like and dissimilar to himself walking around, filling up the sidewalk and the imaginary place he dubbed the world. What if, wherever he turned, he saw himself and didn't know it was himself? What if he imagined everything into existence the way an artist pencils a drawing? What if his eyes were the lenses of a camera, or a kaleidoscope, and he believed whatever he saw, as if it has been set before him from elsewhere? He invented elsewhere.

And what if he vaguely remembered something but didn't know what it was? He couldn't focus on it because it was still undifferentiated and much too big and too marvelous to conceive within the fragile framework he had built for himself. What if he imagined he was stranded somewhere when he was still immersed in the blazing light from which he only imagined he had strayed?

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no spots, no dots

I hear that physicists are working on a world formula, some Final Theory of Everything. They should read this. This is the last word.

No, it's the next to last word. I have known for a long time that this is what reality is like. But knowing it, even knowing it in your bones, is knowing nothing. Something still remains to be remembered. And this remembering, it appears, isn't done. It happens or doesn't, but we have the promise that it will.

He imagined sidewalks and walked on them

Reading this Heavenletter again less than two months later, I'm floored. Much more so than the first time. What am I doing here, inventing elsewhere?

Our story

Simply breathtaking. I recognize this Song.

I know you do, Emilia. And I

I know you do, Emilia.

And I wonder what it might feel like to receive and type such a piece.

The question

Oneness was,

Light knowing nothing else,

yet Being was ready,

forgetting was found,

oneness no longer believed,

duality burst forth,

experiencing, expanding, creating

eons of blindness,

until a vague mist begins to form,


a dream fades and eyes refocus.

What will they see?

But whose are the eyes that

But whose are the eyes that see?

And why does the one, to whom the eyes belong, need to be aware of being?

Are these rhetorical questions?

Paula, I’m not sure if your questions are rhetorical or not, but if they aren’t, I’m sorry I took so long for me to answer them.

I have no definitive answers, since I was composing these lines as they welled up inside and I felt compelled to put them on paper. My answer, then, has no more validity than anyone else. I can just give you my best guess. These words came forth as I was puzzling over this Heavenletter and wondering what it was saying. It seemed like an unanswered question, so I guess that is why the words took the form they did.

At this point in time, your two questions seem like they are asking the same question that my lines were asking. I think if you could answer one of them, you would answer them all. I could easily add more. Why did Oneness feel the desire to become more conscious of Itself? Once this desire became manifest, could the desire ever dissolve again into an unmanifest state? Are there even greater changes ahead of us which we cannot currently even imagine?

Others have said it and maybe it is true, maybe we should not be asking these questions. I think, though, that our questions are important, helping us to find our way on the journey. Maybe it is true that the questions are more important than the answers.

questions and answers

In a sense all questions are rhetorical and all answers are dull.
I see Oneness as a talented painter before his white canvas. Why shoud he not paint?
About "manifest" and then "dissolve", this could be linear thinking. Everything may coexist.
What I feel is that this painting is so great, I have almost completely stopped to even try to understand it.

Indeed, Emilia

Yes, why should He not paint? Especially when to paint is to love. I love your insights, dear, and your beautiful way of expressing.

"What will they see?"

Oneness again,
"Light knowing nothing else,
yet Being was ready,
forgetting was found,
oneness no longer believed,
duality burst forth,
experiencing, expanding, creating
eons of blindness,
until a vague mist begins to form,
a dream fades and eyes refocus.
What will they see?"

Oneness again,
"Light knowing nothing else,
Shall I go on?
A new cycle begins, spiraling down and then up again.
Please, next time, do not count on me.

Paula, this One is not in need, He is "Energy ( Love ) ready to burst into song".

What if at the end of this

What if at the end of this cycle – I don't believe in cycles, but let's call it cycle – what if at the end of this cycle there will be only huge laughter, laughter until it hurts and then more laughter, all the deep meanings and dark mysteries and awful tragedies and high aspirations bursting into smiles and laughter? Perhaps we know or unwittingly know it will be so. Perhaps this is what will make us go for it again any time.

more laugh

I read somewhere, most probably in HL, that we will never depart again.
If this is not the case, you go Jochen, I stay at Home, laughing while Iooking at you, again forgetful of your purpose of more laughing.

I accept, provided that you

I accept, provided that you at least try to throw snowballs or something.


...something like a stone, to make you come Up again.

Beloved Chuck, are you a

Beloved Chuck, are you a doctor who is also a poet?

A title I can't claim

I am flattered by this comment, Gloria. I think it would be a wonderful thing to be a poet, or any type of artist, for that matter. The last time I wrote anything that was not prose was in my first year of college. As you can see from my response to Paula’s comment, I wasn’t trying to do anything, the words just came out like they did.


Beautiful and dynamic description about the paradox between Oneness and our experience of separation!

Your post brought me back to

Your post brought me back to this Heavenletter and myself, Anco.

Thank you.